The Old Ways Are Better

        
“The old ways are better,” announced Roger rather brusquely.

James stared at him from his lounge chair at the club and replied, “What the deuce are you talking about?”

“Murder.”

“What?”

Roger gave his old friend a slightly annoyed look. “Murder. The old ways of murdering people are better than the new ones. Give me poison over technology any day.”

After swirling his brandy around in his cup, James took another drink and eyed his friend closely. “I think you’re mad. The technology that the police have these days makes it almost impossible to succeed at a murder. If a criminal is ever going to avoid being caught, he will need every bit of technology on his side to do it.”

“Humph,” Roger grumbled.

James took another drink as both men sat in the quiet. There were very few people in the club at this hour and the staff knew the gentlemen well enough to leave them alone.

“So, what has got you thinking about murder anyway? Did you read a particularly lurid crime story in the paper?” asked James.

“No,” Roger answered slowly. “I have been thinking of murdering someone so I have been tossing about various plans in my mind.”

James nearly dropped his brandy. “That’s the most absurd thing you have ever said!”

“Perhaps, but you asked.”

James stared at Roger once again. The two were business partners and had been friends for over thirty years. They had met in college and had formed a fast friendship. James paused at Roger’s comment and thought about all of their years together. Roger did hold grudges, but murder? Never!”

Roger chuckled, “Do you mean to say that you have never considered how much better life would be without someone around?”

James politely laughed. “Well, if you put it that way, I suppose there have been a few people that I have harbored a slight death wish for.”

Roger smiled and took another swig of brandy. “I think the first person on my list would be Mrs. Clairhoughten, my fourth grade teacher.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. She had it out for me from day one. I never had a single enjoyable day with her as my teacher!”

James laughed. “I guess my first murder victim would be Jimmy Houghton. He was a bully who decided to pick on me in grade school.”

“I forgot about bullies!” replied Roger. “I guess that adds to my hit list!”

Both men chuckled.

Roger followed up quickly, “So, who would you murder today if you could get away with it?”

James looked aghast at his business partner. “No one, of course!”

“Oh, come on, James,” Roger chided. “There must be someone.”

James took another drink and shook his head.

Roger persisted, “Isn’t there anyone whose demise would make your life better? What about your secretary? Or that guy who sued us last year?”

James laughed, “No, not Janet. She’s a great help. Now, Mr Gordon, on the other hand. Hmmm, he might make it into my top three.”

Roger leaned forward, “Who would be number one?”

James laughed again and took another drink. “I really don’t have anyone, Roger. . . But I suppose if I did, it would be Jeremy Hittle.”

“Jeremy! I should have guessed!” Roger announced triumphantly.

Jeremy Hittle was also a member of the club. He was a big-shot financial investor who had talked Roger and James into making some risky investments which had failed miserably. James had only invested a few hundred thousand with Jeremy. Roger, on the other hand, had invested almost his entire wealth. Now, even with his half of the business, Roger was barely able to maintain his standard of living. There had been some tension between Roger and James as a result. Roger wanted to sell the company so that he could retire in comfort. James preferred the annual income of owning the company instead of a lump sum from a sale.

Roger continued, “I have not seen Jeremy in a long time, have you?”

“No,” sighed James. “I don’t think he comes by here anymore since his financial collapse.”

“No wonder,” commented Roger. “I’ll wager you a week’s income that nearly everyone here suffered as a result of his advice.”

James nodded.

“Cigar?” offered Roger.

“Thank you.”

The two men sat in quiet reflection for some time. Finally, after more conversation about work and families, James noted, “Well, I must get going soon. My wife will be wondering where I am.”

“Could you do me a favor as you go home?” Roger asked.

“Sure. What is it?”

“I need to have this money deposited in the bank machine tonight. Do you mind stopping by the bank on Clipswitch on your way home and depositing it for me? It has to be the bank at Clipswitch.”

James paused. The drive would be about 20 minutes out of his way. “I suppose I can,” he sighed.

“That’s wonderful! Thank you very much,” said Roger, handing him some money and a deposit slip.

“Think nothing of it,” James replied politely.

Roger got up as his partner snuffed out his cigar. “Here, let me help you with your jacket.”

“Thanks.”

As Roger helped James, the other man failed to notice his business partner quietly dropping something in the inside pocket of the coat and slipping a cell phone out of the outer pocket.

“And take my hat with you. It’s getting a bit chilly out.”

“No need for that, Roger.”

“Please. I insist. You are doing me a big favor and I would hate for you to catch a cold.”

With another sigh, James relented and took the hat.

“Well,” said Roger, “I think I will stay here a bit longer. I will see you in the office in the morning.”

“Yes. See you then,” said James as he waved goodbye.

Roger sat back down as James left. Once James was out of sight, Roger glanced around and then slipped on a pair of gloves. Quickly, he grabbed James’ cigar, the brandy decanter and the two brandy glasses. Putting them in a bag, Roger left the club.

It was a short drive to Jeremy Hittle’s house. On the way, Roger called ahead on James’ cell phone.

“Hello, Jeremy! It’s Roger Covington. . . Yes, it has been a long time. . . Look . . . I want to stop by for just a minute if I could . . . I want to bury the hatchet so to speak . . . let bygones be bygones . . . Yes, really . . . Look, I’ve got some brandy with me and a couple of glasses from the club. I’m going to be by your house in five minutes . . . yes, five minutes . . Look. Let’s just slosh down a swig of brandy at your door . . . Yes, we can spend time talking later . . . Well, it is important to me that we take a first step now . . . OK . . . I will see you in a minute.”

Roger hung up the phone and drove quickly to Jeremy Hittle’s house. At the house, Jeremy answered the door cautiously. The way Roger was behaving seemed very uncharacteristic of him. In a moment, though, Jeremy relaxed. Roger’s speech revealed that the former friend had already enjoyed a bit too much brandy.

“He’ll probably not remember this in the morning,” Jeremy thought to himself. “Or he’ll remember and regret it.”

“Let bygones be bygones, that’s what I say! How ‘bout you, Jerremmy?” Roger slurred as he stepped inside the entryway.

“Sure,” he replied. Jeremy figured that cooperating with Roger would be far better than not, given his current state.

“Tha’s jus’ great!” Roger answered. “Let’s hava drink together!”

Jeremy demurred, but Roger insisted. He even had two glasses and some brandy that he had brought from the club. After pouring the drinks, he set the bottle down and raised the glasses in his gloved hands.

“To many more years of friendship!” Roger announced.

Jeremy nodded and watched Roger slug down the drink in one swallow. Then Roger looked at Jeremy in expectation. Sighing, the other man raised his glass and also swallowed the entire drink. Within seconds, Jeremy began to wince. He looked at Roger.

“Cyanide,” Roger said with a smile.

“What?”

“It’s cyanide. I like the old ways of murdering people.”

Jeremy attempted to lunge for Roger, but it was already too late. He was struck by a seizure and fell to the ground, already unconscious. Roger left Jeremy’s broken brandy glass on the floor and locked the knob on the front door as he left the house.

Getting back in the car, Roger drove directly from Jeremy’s house to James’. On the way, he stopped at a trash can and threw a bag into it. Then, upon arriving at James’ house, Roger ran up to the driveway and carefully placed James’ cell phone on the edge of the pavement. Getting back in the car, he drove down to the corner and waited out of sight.

Within a few minutes, James’ pulled into the driveway. Roger smiled happily to see James still wearing his hat. As James got out of the car, he noticed his phone on the ground. Roger imagined his puzzled expression as he picked it up and went inside.

The next morning at work, it was business as usual for everyone. The stock markets were pretty volatile that day, so most of the staff were focused on them. James, in his usual fashion, promptly returned Roger’s hat and the receipt from the bank machine the night before. It was not until late in the afternoon that they heard any news of the murder.

It seems that Mr. Hittle had not come into work that morning and a coworker was dispatched to his house to check on him after their phone calls went unanswered. Soon, there was an ambulance at the house and, not much later, the police were combing the entire neighborhood.

When James heard the news, he immediately thought back to his conversation with Roger at the club. Roger had left for the day already, so there was no opportunity to talk to him. Still, the thought kept nagging him. Finally, toward the end of the day, James decided that he needed to call the police.

Five minutes later, he set the phone down.

Meanwhile, in the police station, Detective Upham sat puzzled.

“What is it, Henry?” asked his partner, Tom Voray.

“Funny call. Don’t know what to make of it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. This guy, Mr. James Fenley, calls about the Hittle murder. He says a friend of his was talking about murdering people last night and Hittle’s name came up in the conversation. It seems that Mr. Fenley and his business partner, a Mr. Covington, lost a lot of money investing with Hittle. So, Fenley thinks that maybe Covington did it.”

“What do you think?”

“Anything is possible in murder, Tom. You know that.”

Upham continued, “I think we’ll get some lab work done tonight and see what happens from there. Maybe, in a few days, we’ll go have a talk with Mr. Fenley if we don’t get any other leads.”

The break in the case that Detective Upham wanted was not long in coming. One of the officers searching the neighborhood found a bag that had been thrown in the trash just a few blocks away. It contained a bottle of brandy, a brandy glass and a used cigar. The forensic team was certain that these were tossed away by the murderer as he escaped.

“Well,” said Upham to his partner, “We now know the murderer was an amateur. They say that there are fingerprints on the glass and plenty of DNA on the cigar. If we can find someone who matches them, we’ll be in great shape.”

The day after his phone call to the police, James was relieved to hear that Roger had called into work feeling sick. Until the murder was solved, James really didn’t want to be near Roger. As it was, James was getting suspicious about Roger and was now on guard in case he might be the next victim.

Another day passed with no word from the police. The news reports and the papers spoke of a break in the case, but no information was given. Roger, for his part, had called in sick again. By now, James was sure that Roger was making his getaway and would be missing overseas before the police figured out what he had done.

The next day, however, James was surprised to get a phone call from the police.

“Mr. Fenley? This is Detective Upham. Do you mind if my partner and I come by to talk to you?”

“That would be fine,” James replied.

“Good. How about if we meet at your house in about half an hour? That might be better than your office.”

“Oh, yes. You’re right,” James answered. He hadn’t thought that Roger might return to work unannounced. “I’ll meet you there at half past two.”

James hung up the phone and got ready to leave. He would have to hurry to meet the police on time. As he stepped out of his office, his secretary, Janet, handed him a small envelope.

“I just saw this sitting on my desk. It may have come in this morning. I’m not sure how I overlooked it.”

Stuffing it in his pocket, James hurried to his car.

At his house, James was surprised to find a police van and two cars. Perplexed, he walked into his house, only to find officers searching it while his wife looked helplessly on.

“They got here about two hours ago,” she announced.

“What are you doing?” James demanded.

Immediately, two policemen grabbed him by the arms and escorted James into the living room.

“Mr. Fenley. I am Detective Upham,” a stocky officer announced. “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind!” James shouted. “Tell me what is going on here!”

Detective Upham motioned to the other officers who handcuffed James.

“Mr. Fenley, you are under arrest on suspicion of murdering Mr. Jeremy Hittle.”

James looked at the detective in shock. “You must be kidding!”

“No, sir. I don’t kid. This very serious.”

“Well. I had nothing to do with it. It’s Roger Covington that you want to talk to!”

“We already have,” replied the detective flatly, “but I am afraid that all of the evidence points to you, Mr. Fenley. So I think a confession out of you now will make things easier on everybody. It might even mean a lighter sentence if the judge sees that you have cooperated with us.”

“Blast it all! I’m innocent! You have nothing to prove I was there!”

“On the contrary, Mr. Fenley. We not only have a motive, but we can show without a reasonable doubt that you were at the crime scene at the time of the murder.”

“I don’t believe it!”

Detective Upham smiled. He thought that maybe showing James the evidence would make him crack.

“Where should I start?” Upham asked. “Do you want to know about the cigar and brandy glass you left in the trash on your way home from the murder? Your fingerprints and DNA were all over them. Too bad you left the matching glass at Mr. Hittle’s house. Or maybe the fact that the GPS records from your cell phone have you leaving the club and going to Mr. Hittle’s house before going home? And according to Mr. Covington and your wife, you took over half an hour to do a ten minute drive. Just enough time to go by Hittle’s house!”

“That’s preposterous! I had a brandy & a cigar at the club, but I left them there. The reason I was late coming home was that I made a bank deposit for Mr. Covington. Go find their security cameras and you’ll see!”

“We already have. The man making the deposit is hard to identify, but Mr. Covington’s hat is unmistakable! And he has the receipt to prove he was there. You don’t happen to have one, too, do you?”

James rushed at the detective in anger and frustration. As another officer restrained him, James began explaining about his lost cell phone and the bank trip and started to accuse Covington of framing him. At that moment, another police officer came into the room holding a sports coat.

“Is this your jacket?” he asked.

“Yes, it is! See if you can see that on the security film! I was wearing it that night at the club!”

“No need,” replied the officer. Turning to the detective, he handed him an empty capsule and said, “This was in the pocket. It’s an empty cyanide container.”

Late that night, as James sat in his jail cell, one of the guards came by.

“Mr. Fenley?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve gone through your personal effects and found a note written to you that you haven’t opened. The detective said it would be OK to give it to you.”

The guard dropped the note on the cell floor and walked away. James stared at it despairingly until he finally picked it up and tore it open. It read:

The old ways are better, but the new ways work well, too.

(c) 2010, Kevin H. Grenier